


an entire desert in our hourglass

by tofiveohfive



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Break Up, Pre-Apocalypse, no one dies in this one folks :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22487662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofiveohfive/pseuds/tofiveohfive
Summary: The first time around, Harry doesn’t recognize it as the reason behind the sudden tightness in his throat. He sees the hourglass sitting empty on Louis’ rack and mistakes it for just another souvenir from a life he used to know.The second time around, he feels insulted by the glaring stoicism of the sand on the bottom. His hand itches to make it move. He thinks he’d find some comfort in knowing that at least the grains of salt are getting somewhere.The third and final time he sees the hourglass, it almost doesn’t catch his eye. The warmth in his bones keeps him from gravitating towards acidic reminders. However, the soft light coming from the window paints a new shade over the lifeless sand. Whereas before Harry couldn’t see past the bitter finality represented by the stillness, now he sees it as a chance waiting to be taken. A new beginning waiting to start.He flips the hourglass.·The world is ending. Harry comes over.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 54
Kudos: 403





	an entire desert in our hourglass

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, i know. i know. here i come again with yet _another_ breakup fic. i'm sorry.
> 
> it's been almost a year since i've written anything, so i'm really happy to share this. as it happens to be the case with most of my fics, this story was inspired by a song: jp saxe & julia michaels' "if the world was ending".
> 
> thank you bhia, syeda and amber for your patience, for being so supportive & for letting me pick your brains when mine was glitching.
> 
> last but not least, i'm pleading creative license on all things astrophysical. if you, by any chance, know a lot about celestial bodies, magnetic fields and the whole shebang, i'm sincerely sorry. you'll probably be a bit dissatisfied with what you'll find here. 
> 
> enjoy! (and hbd, harry!)

_“I didn’t want to leave.  
_ _I turned all your clocks backwards,  
_ _I drew the curtains closed,  
_ _and I changed your alarms.  
_ _I squeezed an entire desert  
_ _into our hourglass.”_

(Alex Dang)

·

·

·

The sound of horns makes Harry dizzy. He tries to stay focused, because this city is prone to traffic accidents even on a good day, but he’s not immune to the staggering desperation hitting his nostrils, his eyes, his tongue. He sees at least four other cars in front of his, drivers waiting for the light to turn green, and that alone makes Harry’s hands shake.

_Who the fuck cares about traffic laws when the world is ending?_

It’s been six months since the first news channel reported that the “ _Asteroid Apophis is officially on its way to Earth_ ”. Apparently, there’s this thing called Kuiper belt, a zone just beyond Neptune that sends a steady rain of small asteroids earthward. It just so happens that this time the asteroid is fifty miles wide. That coupled with the estimated force of impact basically means they are screwed.

It’s Friday and the asteroid is supposed to end all earthbound lives by Sunday.

The people in Harry’s life have exhibited wildly different reactions to the news. Some of his coworkers quit almost immediately, claiming they wanted to get their affairs in order. People in his family — more specifically, his cousins — thought it was all bullshit and had invited him to their “ _Epic Two-Day End of The World Event_ ”. 

Harry isn’t sure where he stands. Ever the optimist, he doesn’t want to believe that all life is doomed. Something inside of his bones tells him that fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to end everyone’s chances at happiness in one go. At the same time, melancholy is contagious and hearing a stranger telling a cashier how he put down his dog because he didn’t want her to suffer really puts things in perspective.

At the moment, surrounded by dozens of drivers in despair, Harry feels very pessimistic.

The light finally turns green and the cars start moving. People are still respecting traffic lights, but the speed limit hasn’t been given the same courtesy. Soon, Harry is the one holding the line, stopped at the crossroad.

He feels a shiver ring down his spine.

He’s supposed to turn left. He _knows_ he’s supposed to turn left here. Left leads to his sister’s house. It leads to his family, to his mum, his nieces. Left leads to comfort, warmth and as much security as can be afforded when the world meets its end. 

However. 

He remembers this crossroad. He remembers when he would get off work and turn right without a thought, because right used to lead him _home_.

Harry doesn’t have much time to make his decision. In fact, he wasn’t aware there was a decision to be _made,_ up until half a second ago. In the end, the overbearing weight of unfinished business tips the balance. 

He’s awarded with a couple additional honks when he turns right without signaling. 

☄️

The minute Harry parks across the street from number 505, he knows he’s made a mistake. Not an “ _oh, my god, I can’t believe I’m parked across the street from my ex-boyfriend’s house_ ” kind of mistake. It’s a mistake because this is Louis Tomlinson. 

Of all the Tomlinson siblings, Louis is the first one to arrive at his mom’s house on Christmas Day, every year, without fail. For almost a decade now, he’s been the one in charge of treating the kids to the biggest and sweetest milkshakes in Manchester — Archie’s — on their birthdays. The last time one of his sisters, Phoebe, went through a major depressive episode, Louis canceled a week worth of classes and drove to London. All that in less than twelve hours. 

There’s no way Louis isn’t with his family today. No chance. Zero. Zip. Nada. He’s most definitely surrounded by siblings, nephews and nieces, playing some sort of game he came up with to take the little ones’ minds off of it. 

The thought alone makes Harry bang his forehead against the steering wheel. “What the fuck are you doing?” he mutters to himself.

He feels his phone buzzing inside his jacket’s pocket. He doesn’t have to check the screen to know it’s Gemma.

Harry tries to fit a greeting into the conversation, but Gemma goes off as soon as he picks up. “Harry?! Are you okay? Where are you?”

“’m okay, Gems.” He rests his forehead on the steering wheel again. “Sorry for making you worry.”

“God, I thought something had happened. The news are showing all kinds of crazy stuff.”

Harry chuckles humorlessly. “I bet.”

“Where are you, H? Are you close?”

Here’s where stuff gets complicated.

“I’m…” Harry sighs. He has no idea how to explain his current situation to his sister. He’s having a hard time understanding his train of thought himself and he doesn’t have enough time to mull it over and make it sound rational. Being upfront it is, then. “I’m outside Louis’ place.”

It’s a testament to how well his sister knows him that she doesn’t immediately freak out.

After a minute, she speaks. A soft, “ _Fuck_ ,” followed by a sigh and, “I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m not surprised.”

Harry licks his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. “I have no idea what I’m doing here, Gems.”

Another moment passes without a word. It’s weird how silent this neighborhood is, considering the absolute chaos installed all over the city. It’s so quiet that Harry has no choice but to listen to his own frantic heartbeat while he waits for an answer. 

“I think…” Gemma hesitates and starts again. “You don’t need me to say all the things we both know I should be saying right now.” Harry snorts softly. “I think if I suspected that Michal would take his last breath without knowing how much he means to me, I’d do everything in my power to fix that.”

Harry lets out a sob that had been building in his throat, another band of heaviness wounding itself around his chest. “This is crazy. I need time. I need to hug mum, _you_ —” He can hear the anguish growing with each word that leaves his mouth.

“H,” Gemma’s voice interrupts him and forces him to take a breath. “Harry, listen to me. We’ll be here, okay? We won’t go anywhere.”

“But what if —” Another dry sob. He can’t make himself say the words. “I feel like my heart is being ripped in half.”

Gemma’s shaky inhale through the line betrays how much this conversation is getting to her. “Your heart is inside that house. You know it is.”

Harry lets out another indelicate snort, much more bitter than the last one. “The thing is, though,” he sniffs. “The _thing is,_ I don’t! I don’t even know if he’s in there!” Before his sister has a chance to ask, he continues. “What are the chances that he is here and not in Doncaster, Gemma?”

“You’re telling me you haven’t checked yet?” Now she sounds mildly impatient, apprehensive.

“What am I even gonna tell him.” It’s not an actual question. Gemma answers anyway.

“H.” She sounds so tender that Harry knows it’s going to hurt even before she finishes. It’s what his sister always sounds like when she’s about to present him with hard truths. “The world is ending. Who cares? Just do what feels right. Just go to him.”

Harry swallows. Nothing feels _right_. Everything feels rushed and reckless, like a dream, in which he’s left to watch things play out without his consent. He understands what she means, though. Maybe it doesn’t feel _right_ , but being here does feel _imperative_. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Pretty sure he’s not here, though.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry. Don’t make me hang up on you now and regret it till our next life.”

He chuckles wetly. “I love you. I’m so lucky to have a sister like—”

“We’re not doing that yet, either.” _Yet_. Harry can recognize the desperation in her voice from miles apart. “Now go on. You have a relationship to mend. No time to lose. Chop-chop.”

“Thank you,” he whispers and leans his head back against the seat. He’s not entirely sure what there is to mend in his and Louis’ relationship. It’s not like they ended with some big blowout. It’s not like there’s some missing apology that will fix everything. They would need time if they were to ever hope for a cure and turns out time is the one thing they’re all sorely lacking these days.

“Keep me updated,” Gemma demands.

“I will.”

“I’m being serious right now. Don’t get lost in… whatever that’ll become. We need to know you’re okay.”

“I know. I won’t. Promise.”

“‘Kay, then. Bye for real now.” Now that he’s not losing it over his own anxiety, Harry hears the distress clear as day in her every word. “Good luck. Love you.”

“Thank you. Take care of each other, Gems. I love you.”

He hangs up the phone with a heavy heart.

☄️

The front door is still red. Harry doesn’t know why he expected it to have changed, but it’s unsettling to see it looks exactly the same. Maybe it’s because he’s always associated the red with Before. 

The red door was there when Louis first took Harry to get to know the place, before even submitting an offer. Its color used to be relatively more muted at the time, but they rectified that themselves the weekend after Louis moved in, armed with too small brushes and a whole lot of enthusiasm. Weeks later, the uneven brush strokes were what Harry would stare at while he waited not-so-patiently for Louis to come open the door for him. Near the end, when his own key to the door shined bright among other less important ones on his keychain, the red door would mean he was finally home.

He gives himself another second to stare at the door and process whatever it is that he’s feeling. It’s not regret, nor resentment. It isn’t anger, doubt or despair. He’s been through all those stages ever since he and Louis broke up, more than a year ago. This feeling is softer, subdued. A dullness, an empty space. It reminds him of when he cut his hair when he was younger. His hair was a part of him, until one day it was no longer there and he found himself having to get used to its absence. It should be okay because, one way or another, he was partly to blame for cutting it off — but it’s never that simple. 

It’s much easier to manage when it comes to the big things, because those are the first that spring to mind when you break up with somebody. Harry knew immediately that he’d have to get used to the left side of the bed being empty. He mourned for the green loveseat at Louis’ place, the one that was his best friend for morning readings. He asked for a refund for the plane tickets he’d bought to his aunt’s 30th wedding anniversary and he started looking into how to finance a car. 

What Harry hadn’t prepared for was having to make his own tea every morning. He didn’t consider how lonely his showers would feel without Louis’ ramblings and it didn’t cross his mind that he’d have to create his own Spotify account. After coming home from work one Saturday, he found the Packers’ game hadn’t been recorded and realized he’d have to start programming the TV himself if he wanted to watch it. 

In all honesty, it’s been months since he’s felt the weight of this burden, but that was before he saw the door. He hadn’t prepared for the door to still be red, either. 

Harry takes a deep breath and, with no small amount of hesitation, rings the doorbell.

His ears feel plugged. The only thing he can hear is the distorted sound of himself swallowing. He’s aware that time always seems to crawl when one is anxious, but it really does take a long time for something to happen. The more the seconds drag, the heavier the weight in his stomach becomes. 

Harry had accounted for the fact that Louis probably wouldn’t be home, but the apparent confirmation makes him feel nauseous with misery. He didn’t have a plan at all when he decided to come, but the fact that he wouldn’t even have a _chance_ to tell Louis— to make sure he understood— 

The sound of the door opening brings his brain to a halt. Harry is too afraid his ears are just playing tricks on him, though, so he doesn’t dare to blink. Soon enough, the door is fully open and there stands Louis.

Harry’s vision goes almost blurry in his haste to take it all in. His first thought is _older_. Louis looks older. It might be the beard, the hair, the _we’re-all-gonna-die-in-three-days_ dark circles under his eyes, but Louis’ furrowed brows and the muted glint in his eyes tell Harry it’s most likely something deeper, from within. His clothes look ragged, like he’s been wearing them for much longer than he should have, and that makes _Harry_ frown. Louis is obviously not at his mum’s house, but he’s also not planning on going there anytime soon. He’s holding a dish towel and he’s barefoot. 

“Harry.” 

It’s not a question.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” The first words are barely a whisper, Harry’s voice cracking due to the heart in his throat.

Louis’ shoulders drop, frown still in place. “The roads are blocked.” He barely opens his mouth to speak, like he doesn’t want the words to be heard; like a sinner admitting a shameful failure.

 _Shit_. 

“Shit.” The wave of sympathy is so intense that Harry’s eyes instantly start prickling. One sentence was all it took to turn the past twelve months to dust. “Oh, shit, Lou.”

Louis swallows. “I Skyped with them this morning.” He raises his chin, defiant, trying to convince Harry — or himself — that that’s enough.

Harry bites the inside of his cheek, an attempt to stop himself from declaring his condolences once again. He searches his mind for any other subject, one that’ll wash away the barely concealed sorrow in Louis’ face.

“Are your kids okay?” As soon as the words leave his mouth Harry wants to punch himself. _How is this a safer subject?_

“I hope so.” Louis shifts from one foot to the other. He sounds assertive, but he’s not meeting Harry’s eyes. “The principal allowed us to turn the school into a shelter of sorts. A bunch of kids came in with their families and we were setting up proper rooms, with makeshift beds and all that.” He pauses. “That’s why I couldn’t drive to Donny earlier this week.” For a brief moment, Harry had forgotten about the knife wedged between his ribs. Louis’ words twist it enough to steal Harry’s breath again. 

Louis stops at that and the topic feels unfinished, an uneasy silence filling the space between them. Harry doesn’t know what to say, too busy controlling his breath and trying not to fuck this up even more. Louis is kind enough to keep going.

“I’m not sure what good a shelter will do once the big thing hits, but I guess there’s some comfort in not being alone,” he finishes with a shrug.

In that moment, Harry knows with absolute clarity that he’s made the right decision.

He takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with air and boldness. “The world is ending and you’re doing the dishes?”

Louis’ eyebrows raise in question. He looks down at his hand, like he’s surprised to see the dish towel there himself. He recovers quickly, though. “Are we supposed to live our last moments in filth?”

Harry’s heart clenches with something. Endearment. Longing. Gratefulness.

“Gimme that,” Harry says, climbing a step and extending his hand. “Let me help.”

Louis’ face knits itself back into a frown. Before he can ask one of the dozen questions hanging in the air, Harry reaches out to gently take the towel from his limp hand. “There’s comfort in not being alone.”

It goes unspoken that, unlike Louis’ own family, Harry’s sister and mum live in Manchester.

Louis still doesn’t take a step back to let Harry in. His newly empty hand moves to grab Harry’s forearm. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m not doing you a favor, Louis,” Harry shakes his head. However, his statement is still not enough to get Louis to budge, so Harry searches his expression for other hitches. “And you know I’d never pity you, right?”

There are very few things Louis despises more than people feeling sorry for him. 

Harry knows he’s hit the mark when Louis’ grip on his arm loosens a fraction. Still, he asks in a grave tone, “Are you sure, Harry?”

There are many more questions laced in those four words. Lack of practice means Harry can’t catch them all, but he does hear one or two, like, “ _Won’t that break your mum’s heart?_ ” and “ _Does this mean I can allow myself to count on you again?_ ”

It’s the first time since Louis has opened the door that their eyes meet in complete honesty. To every question he can hear, Harry answers with a resounding, “Yes.”

Louis exhales, yielding. His hand lets go of Harry’s arm and he takes a step back. “Okay, then. Come on in.”

☄️

The path from the front door to the kitchen feels like a twelve-step, five-level mission; one of increasing difficulty. The five levels are as follows:

 **#1** The chalkboard key holder in the hall

It’s a small, unimportant detail, but the chalkboard is pretty much empty. Harry can see hints of the last words Louis had written on it, a couple random items that together probably made a grocery list. He can’t pinpoint exactly why it unsettles him so much to see that the words have simply faded, as if Louis couldn’t even be bothered enough to erase them. Every memory Harry has of that chalkboard features song lyrics, book quotes, dumb memes, basically whatever that had made Louis laugh, cry or _feel_ anything during the week. To see it so neglected throws him off.

 **#2** The shoe rack underneath the entryway table

Or maybe Harry should say _the lack of_ the shoe rack. 

At every turn, he’s painfully reminded that he hasn’t stepped foot inside this house for over a year. Back then, they’d come up with an improvised rack to put their dirty shoes once they got home. The rack was always accompanied by two pairs of slippers to wear inside — one for Louis and one for Harry, even though he never officially moved in. Today, there’s no rack and there are no slippers. 

Harry takes a good five seconds to find his balance again, finally deciding to take off his Vans and walk barefoot.

 **#3** The closed door to Louis’ study

Old habits die hard and, once he put himself in these surroundings again, it’s Harry’s default to check inside the study. When he used to spend all his days here, more often than not he’d steal a peek of Louis in there, drowning in papers with his mouth pursed in a cute pout. Harry is well aware that Louis is not inside that room right now — he’s actually a couple steps ahead of him — but that doesn’t lessen the impact of seeing that door closed for the first time. 

**#4** The green loveseat

It’s still there, next to the big window in the living room. Harry sees it as they’re passing by the doorway and his steps come to a halt. It seems wrong not to go over there and greet it, like he’s ignoring an old friend he hasn’t seen in too long. Like he might regret it if he’s forced to leave before having another chance to catch up with it. 

How many books has the loveseat read over the year? How many laughters were shared in the space between its cushions and the warm light coming from the window? Did any tears get lost in its fabric? Which quotes kept the loveseat afloat in the past months?

Harry’s reverie is interrupted by Louis’ voice, “Everything okay?”

Like a violent ocean wave, Harry is hit by the realization that the last book he read was just it, the _last_. He gasps.

“Harry?” Louis takes a hesitant step in his direction.

Louis’ face comes into focus and Harry shakes his head, trying to get rid of the fog that still blurs the edges of his vision. “It’s nothing. Just,” he shakes his head one more time, “the world is ending and all that.”

Louis expression softens. “Yeah,” he chuckles, despondently. “All that.”

 **#5** The kitchen table

When Louis first moved in, he’d said that it was time he, as a respectful adult (his words, not Harry’s), got a proper dining table to go along with the dining room that came with the house. However, the table felt too big and too fancy for just the two of them, so nine times out of ten they’d just eat at the kitchen table. Most things at the time came in pairs and the kitchen table chairs were no different. In this case, only one pair — a chair to each one of them. 

Harry finally enters the kitchen and the first thing he notices is that there’s only one chair at the table. He doesn’t have to look far to find the other ( _his_ ) chair, standing in the corner, covered in school books.

Harry can’t hold his tongue. “Those are… a lot of books?” His sentence turns into a question because, _shouldn’t these books be in Louis’ study?_

“Oh,” Louis seems caught off guard by the question. “Yeah, I’ve been doing most of the class planning and grading in here.” Harry’s next question must be as clear as day on his face, because Louis quickly follows with, “The study feels too lonely these days.”

Harry has no idea how to answer to that. A moment of uneasiness falls upon them and he desperately looks around for something to break it. His eyes find the sink. “So, these are the dishes that can’t be around for the asteroid, then?”

Louis takes a visibly relieved breath. “Right!” 

The next fifteen minutes are easy. It’s familiar. As soon as Harry steps in front of the sink, it feels like no time has passed at all. Louis washes, Harry dries, and the silence might as well be a third person sharing their space and easing the tension. 

Who would've known that, to travel back in time, you only need to clear your head and put your body through the same motions it once knew by heart?

"I'm glad I never bought that dishwasher."

Louis' words take a moment to sink in. Harry frowns. "The one with a million settings?" Louis nods. " _Why_?" What Harry really wants to ask is, _why on Earth are you bringing that up now?_

Louis washes and rinses two more mugs before answering. "I mean, for one," he raises one soapy finger. "I never really needed one. I was simply feeling peer-pressured by society's capitalistic need to automate everything. We did just fine without it." He shrugs and Harry chooses to laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement rather than to deal with the use of the plural pronoun. “And two, I'm pretty sure I'd be feeling like the world's biggest dumbass right now, if I had spent all that money on something that would only have been used for twelve months, tops.”

The astonishment of hearing Louis say so many words after so long is overshadowed by the absurdity of it all. Harry fishmouths for a good five seconds. “That makes _no_ sense.”

Louis doesn’t even blink. “It makes all the sense.”

Harry scoffs. “Okay, so, following that logic...” He finishes drying the last of the mugs, placing it inside the cabinet and bringing the hand still holding the dish towel to his waist. “You’re saying that, what? If you had known the world was ending, you wouldn’t have bought any clothes in the past year? Wouldn’t have kept paying for your Netflix subscription?”

Louis stops cleaning the sink to make sure Harry sees him rolling his eyes. “No, _Harry_. What I’m saying is, an informed decision is a better decision. Maybe if I had known, I would have spent my money and my time doing something more fulfilling. Maybe I’d have travelled! To Morocco or something!”

That makes Harry pause. “Morocco? Since when do you wanna go to Morocco?”

“Since now! Who cares?! My _point_ is—”

Harry closes his eyes and waves a hand to make him stop. “I get what _your point_ is, but I still don’t agree.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Okay, then.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the sink. “Explain to me why the dishwasher is so important.”

“You know it’s not about the dishwasher.” Harry narrows his eyes. “You’re being obtuse on purpose.”

Louis has a hard time biting back a smile. “Maybe.”

After letting out a long-suffering sigh, Harry powers on. “I don’t think it’d be as fulfilling if you had, you know, the weight of impending doom on your conscience. I think every second would feel haunted by it.”

Louis mulls over it for a moment. “That’s where we disagree. I think knowing your actions won’t have any impact on the future would be cathartic.” Suddenly, he seems taken aback by his own words. “Not _would be_. Is. It’s cathartic.”

Harry feels a pang of sympathy. “It sucks, doesn’t it? To be reminded of it every five seconds.”

Louis bites his bottom lip. “I try to convince myself it has finally sunk in, but I keep getting blindsided by stuff like that.”

Unwilling to let the mood darken again, Harry asks the first thing that comes to his mind. “What are your plans, then?” Louis looks at him like he’s _sure_ Harry has finally lost the plot. “You were the one saying the end of the world is cathartic! Don’t you have any plans? A bucket list or something?”

Louis chuckles without any humor and Harry can’t hear his next words because his brain is too busy playing a loop of _I miss your real laugh I miss your real laugh I miss your real laugh_.

He clears his throat, “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Louis takes a second to answer, studying Harry’s face with such intensity that Harry is sure Louis knows exactly what he was thinking. “I said, if by ‘bucket list’ you mean ‘copious amounts of alcohol,’ then sure.” 

"Well, I suppose that's the best we can do, with the roads being blocked and everything," Harry ponders. "If you're willing to share, that is?" It ends up sounding like a question because he's still not sure where they stand. Is he going to stay here? Is he _allowed_ to stay here? Does he _want_ to stay here? Does Louis?

Louis presses his lips together, looking away.

Harry thinks he knows where his hesitation is coming from. It's one thing to grant Harry permission to come in and hang out for a couple hours. That's relatively safe. That means they only have to stay amicable long enough for Harry to get this restlessness out of his system and then he'll be on his merry way. It's another thing completely to get drunk together on the third to last day of their lives. That means longer hours and the terrifying vulnerability that comes with inebriation.

Finally, Louis clears his throat. "I think there's plenty to go around."

His eyes don’t meet Harry’s but he still counts that as a win.

☄️

They end up in the living room, each with their own choice of poison in hand (a bottle of gin for Harry and whiskey for Louis). It would feel too bold to sit on the loveseat, like Louis would see right through him, so Harry sits on the sofa, with Louis taking the other end.

The easy banter doesn’t follow them from the kitchen, stillness finding its way into their sentences all over again. It’s almost painful to try to keep the conversation going. Harry frantically searches his mind for safe topics to talk about, like Lottie’s graduation and Sam Fender’s new album. He even tries to start a discussion over politics and the Brexit saga, just to see if he can get Louis’ eyes to shed their cloak of apathy, but all he gets for his trouble is a halfhearted effort of indignation.

Regrettably, he sees himself compelled to pull out the big guns. There's one thing that never fails to bring a reaction out of Louis: rubbish reality TV.

“So,” Harry takes a sip of his gin and tea. “Have you had a chance to watch any good TV lately?”

Louis doesn’t even bat an eye, morosely sipping his drink.

Harry goes in for the kill. “I thought the latest season of Love Island was pretty good.”

 _That_ makes Louis look at him. “You’re shitting me.” His voice sounds dull, but Harry can see the outrage simmering beneath the surface.

Harry fakes obliviousness. “No, I’m being serious! It was good!” He tries to put on his best poker face. The thrill of getting Louis to _care_ is making his cheeks warm. “I was rooting for Maureen! Or was it Maura?” 

“You’re absolutely, one hundred percent shitting me,” Louis scoffs, shaking his head and sitting straight. “There’s no way _you_ enjoy that shitshow.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Harry, please. Give me some credit.” The alcohol finally seems to be working its magic on Louis’ system, because his voice has lost some of its edge. “It’s safe to say I know you like the back of my hand and you’d never, and I mean _never_ , fall for that cheap, trashy drama.”

_Well, shit._

Louis’ unwavering certainty pulls the safety rug from under him, but Harry has to keep the conversation going if he doesn’t want Louis to retract in on himself again. This silly discussion is fun, it’s easy. Harry can even almost spot a smile starting to form in the curve of Louis’ mouth. He has to push through.

“You never know. A lot has changed since we last saw each other.”

Louis actually chuckles at that, a _genuine_ laugh. “Not that much, it hasn’t. You’re still the same person that used to go on and on about soul-deep connections and the essence of people.”

 _We just weren’t meant for each other_.

The memory hits him so hard he almost drops his glass on his lap. He doesn’t think Louis has made the same connection to those words, because he’s still shaking his head jokingly, but all it takes is one look at Harry’s face for him to freeze.

The amusement drops from Louis’ expression so fast it almost seems like someone has thrown a bucket full of water at his face. If anyone asked, Harry would say neither of them inhales for a full minute, but the truth is that he wouldn’t be able to hear his own breath over the white noise in his ears.

Once again, Louis refuses to meet his eyes and Harry _hates_ it. 

“Who’s to say people can’t find a sincere connection in a reality show?” Harry’s attempt at a joke falls flat, his heartbeat rising along with the chagrin surging in his veins.

“Harry…” Louis starts and Harry immediately doesn’t like where this is going. “I’m sorry, but I have to—” he puts down his almost-drained glass of whiskey on the center table. “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re trying, I can see it, but,” he sighs. “What are you _doing_ here? What is this?”

Harry’s mouth feels too dry to answer, so he takes another sip of his drink to buy himself time. “What do you mean, ‘what is this’?”

Louis’ frustration is almost palpable. Harry is sure he’d be able to feel it on his fingertips, if only he dared to reach out towards Louis’ end of the sofa. “I don’t wanna play games, Harry. It’s not like we have anything to lose and—” he cuts himself off with another sigh, running his hands over his face. “All of this was hard enough before you showed up on my doorstep wanting to chat. Please, the least you can do is be honest with me.”

It hurts, for Louis to imply that his presence made everything _worse_ . It stings, _sharply_ , especially because, ever since he’s stepped a foot in this house, the pressure inside of Harry’s chest has lessened considerably. 

“Oh, I’m— I’m sorry. I never meant to—” Harry tries to hold on tight to the remaining crumbs of his pride while simultaneously attempting to get rid off his drink, so he can get up and leave, so they can both pretend the world ended before Harry made a complete fool of himself. “I swear it was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to make sure you knew. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna—”

“Harry.” Louis’ voice is firm, but what really puts a stop to Harry’s drunken rambling is the soft, cold touch of Louis’ hand on his forearm. _Again_. Like this is a common, recurring part of their days. Like Louis’ touch isn’t a drug and Harry’s skin hadn’t suffered from withdrawal symptoms for months. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean that.”

Harry can’t take his eyes off Louis’ hand, but his mind is still clear enough that he can say, “You kinda did.”

Louis inhales deeply. “Yeah, okay. I kinda did.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse,” Harry whispers.

“I know,” Louis sounds exhausted. For his next words, he gives Harry’s arm a small squeeze and that makes Harry look at his face. “It’s just me.” His eyes are as unwavering as his tone. “Just talk to me, babe. I can’t find my feet if I don’t know what I’m getting into.”

Harry takes in a shaky breath. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. I didn’t have a plan or anything like that. I only realized I was at your place when I parked outside.”

Louis lets go of his arm and, the moment the cold air hits his newly uncovered skin, Harry notices Louis’ hand had been sweating. It’s strangely comforting.

“You still chose to knock on the door,” Louis argues. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” Harry answers simply.

“Harry, _please_. I swear, it’s like pulling teeth with you.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult, Louis. _Jesus_. I really—”

He gets interrupted by sudden gloominess. The entire house is swallowed by complete darkness and the absence of whirring from electronic devices makes the silence louder.

“What…?”

“Goddammit,” Harry hears and feels Louis’ body fall back against the sofa next to him. “I guess we were too optimistic to count on electricity, considering the circumstances.”

Once he realizes it’s only a blackout, Harry also leans his body back against the cushions, albeit a bit more hesitantly. It feels like his heart has been beating overtime for the past hour, at least.

None of them say anything for a moment, Harry listening to the sound of Louis breathing while he gathers his thoughts. Finally, the darkness provides a much needed cover for their previous conversation and Harry decides to try again.

“I knew you probably wouldn’t be home,” Harry starts. He feels Louis moving to face him. “But the idea of…” He doesn’t know how to put it into words. “I had to try, you know? The last time we spoke wasn’t _bad_ , but it wasn’t good either, and I thought you deserved better. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t try. I had to make sure you knew.”

Louis is kind enough not to ask. Harry answers just the same. “You were the most important person in my life for so long,” Harry licks his lips, thinking his words through. “I didn’t want you to think that… That I’d forgotten that, just because of how it ended. I _haven’t_. I won’t.”

The seconds between Harry’s confession and Louis’ reply feel endless. Finally, Louis’ raspy voice comes somewhere from Harry’s right side. “I didn’t allow myself to think about you. When the first warning hit the news, I mean. It terrified me. It still does, I think.”

Harry mirrors Louis’ actions and moves to his side, so they’re both face to face, even though he can barely make out Louis’ features in the dark. “Do you understand? Why I came? I just had to. I’d still be here even if we didn’t exchange a word the entire time. This is bigger than...” He looks for the right word to finish the sentence. Louis figures it out before he does.

“It’s bigger than the reasons not to. I understand.” 

And that’s it. It _is_. Bigger than the reasons not to come. Bigger than the reasons behind their breakup. Much more powerful than the weariness that had taken over their bones and the deafening silences that they had shared at the end.

“I don’t know what we do now,” Louis’ voice sounds raspier than usual.

Harry bites the bullet. “Would you feel better if I left?”

He can feel the warmth coming from Louis’ skin. He wants to reach out and pull him into a hug. Wants to feel the solidness of Louis’ body between his arms. 

Harry’s heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of his rib cage while he waits for an answer.

“I don’t think so, no.” Harry exhales a relieved sigh while Louis moves once again. He suspects Louis has reached back for his forgotten whiskey on the center table, hence the sound of liquid being poured into the glass. “I think…” He leaves it at that until he drops back against the sofa. “Sorry, I’m a bit lightheaded. I think I would’ve regretted it too, if I didn’t see you again. I _wanted_ to see you, even if I’m still mixed up about it.” After taking a sip and swallowing, he tenderly squeezes Harry’s heart with, “I’m glad you came.”

Quietness falls upon them again and Harry contemplates how candor comes so much easier for them in the dark. He’s thankful for its shelter.

“That’s easy for me to say, though,” Louis’ tone raises a fraction when he picks up where he left off. “I _really_ don’t have anything to lose. I’m stuck with only my thoughts for company in this house. You, on the other hand…” He doesn’t finish, but it’s more than clear what he means. “I don’t want you to feel bad about leaving,” Harry immediately opens his mouth to protest. “ _If_ you want to leave, that is.”

“I don’t,” Harry says, resolutely.

He doesn’t need to see to know that Louis has raised his eyebrows at that. Maybe he should play it cool, safer, and pretend that he is _at least_ considering to leave, but, for now, that’s simply not the case. As much as their talk has unraveled some tight knots in Harry’s stomach, the thrumming under his skin is still there. The delicate understanding they’ve reached here is still not enough.

“I told Gemma I’d keep in touch, keep them updated,” he tries to counterbalance. Which reminds him of... “ _Holy shit!_ ” Louis’ disgruntled huff lets Harry know he almost knocks over Louis’ glass in his haste to reach inside his own back pocket. “We gotta save battery if we want to have a way of—!” He cuts himself off abruptly. There’s no good way to finish this sentence, so he doesn’t. He pretends to have gotten distracted by checking his phone.

The brightness coming from the phone screen illuminates both their faces and Harry can’t help but let his eyes stray towards Louis. He’s got his eyes closed and his head thrown back against the cushions, exposing the long column of his neck. 

Harry swallows around nothing. 

He opens the Messages app and types out, _Everything is okay. I’m with Louis. How’s everyone over there?_

After he sends the text, Harry’s eyes search for Louis again, only to find him staring back this time around. His head has rolled to the side and he’s now observing Harry with a newfound softness around the edges of his eyes. “Can’t imagine Anne is too happy about you being here. Or Gemma.”

Harry licks his lips, thinking his next words carefully. “Gemma said that, if this were Michal, she’d do the same.”

Louis doesn’t answer, but the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek lets Harry know they’re thinking the same thing: Gemma and Michal are still together. Gemma and Michal are _married_.

Gemma’s answer to his text comes through, the notification sound ringing across the quiet room. 

_i’m glad, send him my love. we’re okay, a bit  
pissed about the power cut. mum asked you  
to call her in the morning. _

_Tell her I will. Gonna turn off the phone for_  
the night, okay? Send everyone my love.  
Try to catch some sleep. I love you.

He turns off his phone before Gemma has a chance to answer. Talking to her while sitting on Louis’ sofa makes him feel out of sorts, like he’s failing his family, even though she was the one who encouraged him to come here.

He doesn’t allow the prickling behind his eyes to grow, choosing to finish his lukewarm drink in one go.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry can’t see him anymore, but the gentleness in Louis’ tone is enough to bring back the burning sensation of tears. He’s got nothing to say to that, so he leans forward and feels for the gin bottle he knows he’s left on the table. Once he finds it, he wraps his fingers around the neck and brings the lip of the bottle straight to his mouth.

☄️

The first thing Harry sees when he opens his eyes is a spiderweb. It takes him a moment to shake the fogginess of sleep and hangover, but the second time around he realizes it’s Louis’ shin next to his head.

As slowly as possible, he props himself up on his elbows and surveys the situation.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but apparently he and Louis had been too worried about their respective bottles to care about beds. Speaking of bottles, Harry snorts when he sees Louis is still clutching the almost empty bottle of Fireball, back curled up against the back of the sofa. Harry’s own bottle is nowhere to be seen, but he can see that they’ve also devoured a bunch of snacks — if the packages strewn across the floor are any indication.

A burp takes him off guard and his mouth is suddenly flooded with the taste of Hula Hoops and a day’s old alcohol. It’s a rude reminder that he’s hungover as _fuck_. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry closes his eyes and tries to keep the nausea at bay. He desperately needs a shower.

For half a second, Harry considers that he should probably ask Louis’ permission to use the bathroom, but Louis seems to be completely out of it and Harry’s fear of throwing up all over the living room urges him to move quickly.

Too busy fighting off the nausea, Harry doesn’t even register the fact that he’s entering Louis’ en suite. It’s only when he’s already under the spray of water that he remembers there’s another bathroom, just down the hall, and that he probably isn’t allowed in this one anymore. Thinking about ex-boyfriend etiquette is making his head hurt, though, so he decides to ignore it for now. If Louis asks, he’ll blame it on the hangover.

Once he’s out of the shower, he stands naked on the bathroom rug, trying to figure out how to go about his clothes. He could put back on the same clothes from yesterday, but he can’t even imagine what his shirt must smell like from all the sweat and spilled drinks. He decides to keep the jeans and forgo everything else. Surely a borrowed shirt isn’t too much to ask.

Harry walks back into the main room feeling a bit like a tool, with his chest bare and a few water drops running down the back of his neck. Still rubbing his hair with the towel, Harry looks around the room for Louis, but he’s nowhere to be found. 

His next bet is the kitchen, and that’s where he finds a very rumpled Louis, putting the kettle on.

“Good morning,” Harry says, shifting on his feet in the doorway. He tries to be as inconspicuous as possible about covering his belly with the towel, just so Louis doesn’t think it’s some sort of _move_ or whatever.

He doesn’t need to worry, because Louis doesn’t even turn to address him. “’m glad I’m dying in the next forty-eight hours,” his voice sounds weird and, once Harry moves closer, he realizes Louis is talking around a cigarette. “I swear anything is better than the pressure inside of my skull right now.”

Harry presses his lips together, carefully entering the kitchen. “Do you have some paracetamol?” 

He doesn’t know why he feels so squirmish, but the harsh daylight has no regards for the soft confessions they shared last night. The prospect of Louis reacting negatively — or, worse, acting like their talk never happened at all — has Harry curling his toes with anxiety. He doesn’t want to go back to square one, doesn’t want to pretend like it’s no big deal that he’s here. Most of all, Harry _never_ wants to feel like they’re strangers again.

Louis turns around and Harry feels a pang of endearment noticing the puffiness around his eyes. Yesterday Louis had looked dead on his feet, and the logical part of Harry’s brain is aware that the uninterrupted night of sleep had probably been due to the Fireball, but he’s still happy to have played a part in it at all.

Oblivious to Harry’s musings, Louis blinks and frowns. “Probably not, but doesn’t hurt to check.” He takes one more drag of his cig while opening the kitchen cabinet. “Can’t remember the last time I bought any.” Harry’s eyes follow the smoke leaving Louis’ mouth while he speaks. Inadvertently, his stare ends up back at Louis’ lips and he watches as a slow smirk takes shape. “Is there something you wanna get off your chest?”

Harry knows exactly what he’s referring to. A lifetime ago, whenever he saw Louis smoking, he’d have a whole speech about the dangers of tobacco on the tip of his tongue. At the very least, he’d glare at Louis until he put it out. 

“There’s no point anymore, is there?” Harry shrugs.

For the first time since he’s entered the kitchen, Harry notices Louis’ stare wandering to the bare skin of his upper half. He feels a rush of blood to his neck and considers bolting out of the kitchen, the idea of putting on a dirty shirt much less unappealing than before. The alarm going off in his head grows even louder when Louis takes a step towards him. Harry is half a second away from running — or doing something stupid — when Louis picks up his left hand and places two tablets on his palm. “Turns out I had some.”

All these seemingly inconsequential touches feel like a burning line of gunpowder leading to the pile of dynamite that are Harry’s feelings. He’s been trying to put a stop to the detonation, but every time Louis’ skin touches his is like a new match has been lit.

Feeling the tablets starting to melt on his palm, Harry watches as Louis swallows a couple tablets dry himself before saying, “Wait here a bit. I’ll see if I can find a top for you.”

Louis leaves the kitchen and Harry takes the opportunity to catch his breath. 

Today feels weird. Harry blames it on the vaguely threatening orange fog that’s taken over this morning’s sky.

The sudden sound of the kettle whistling unsettles Harry even more, so he turns off the stove and decides to make himself busy. When Louis returns from the bedroom, Harry has already set two mugs on the counter, tea bags in place, waiting for the water to cool down a bit.

Harry has been on the other end of Louis’ passionate rants too many times not to know that you shouldn’t use boiling water for tea.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want to wear, so I got you a shirt and a hoodie,” Louis holds up each item of clothing in one hand. Harry immediately recognizes the worn out black tee Louis used to wear to sleep when they were in university. 

Harry wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole.

“I’ll take the hoodie,” Harry mumbles. “Thanks.”

The moment Harry puts it on he realizes his mistake. There’s something about hoodies that make you feel hugged, protected, and a hoodie faintly smelling of Louis’ cologne is the most heavenly form of torture. 

Harry doesn’t know what has happened, but, ever since yesterday, it’s like some sort of barricade has been ruptured, allowing these unfiltered thoughts to flood his mind. Whereas last night he was worried about the reasons that brought him here, today he can’t stop thinking about the pads of Louis’ fingers and the way it felt to wake up surrounded by his body heat again.

Unconsciously, Harry buries his nose in the neck of the hoodie, closing his eyes and breathing in deep. When he looks up again, Louis is watching him curiously.

He’d rather deal with a lecture than with the question in the dip of Louis’ eyebrows, so Harry decides that ruining their tea is his best option at the moment. Ignoring Louis’ presence only a few feet away from him, Harry pours the boiling water into their mugs, fixating on the way the color slowly seeps through it, like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

The silence is heavy, like giant balloon inflating and taking over all the space inside the kitchen. Harry feels the tension pushing his organs around and bringing back the sickness he’d felt earlier. He’s clueless as to why every move feels charged today. The more he thinks about it, the more he suspects it might be because some of their walls had come down during the blackout, and now their bodies are simply trying to catch up.

Noticing that Louis makes a face after his first sip, Harry sighs. “Go on, just say it.”

Louis opens and closes his mouth twice before finally saying, “I mean, you _could’ve_ waited a couple more—”

“Oh, my _god_. I knew it!”

“You were the one who told me to say it!”

Harry shakes his head, incredulous. “I knew you’d be finicky about your tea till your last day, but to actually see it happening…”

“Oh, shuddup,” Louis chuckles lightheartedly. 

Louis’ sincere smile unwinds the muscles of Harry’s gut, making it easier for him to take a ship of his own tea, fond laughter hidden behind the lip of his mug. Harry’s affection intensifies even more when Louis brings a hand to his mouth, trying to mask his amusement.

“It’s not that bad,” Louis adds, kindly.

Harry is about to say what’s done is done, no use trying to remediate, but his eyes fall from Louis’ crinkles to the digital clock on the microwave. His stomach drops. “ _Fuck_.”

11:36 AM.

His phone has been turned off for much longer than he’d planned. His family must be worried sick.

Sensing the severity of Harry’s distress, Louis goes to put down his mug. “Everything alright?”

Harry desperately palms his back pockets for his phone, coming up empty. “I should’ve called them hours ago.” His voice is shaking. “Where is my _fucking_ phone?”

“We haven’t left the house. It’s gotta be in here somewhere,” Louis appeases him. “You go look in the living room and I’ll check the bathroom, ‘kay?”

Harry nods, heart in his throat. Rationally, he knows he is overreacting, but the stakes are too high and a fuck up like this only reinforces the guilt he’s been fighting since he parked outside yesterday. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s choosing Louis over his family, time and time again. 

He finds his phone buried between the cushions. “Found it!” He yells, already pressing the power button.

A worried Louis shows up in the doorway. He watches Harry while Harry watches his phone, a string of notifications cascading down the screen. Harry doesn’t even give himself time to read any of them, immediately unlocking it and calling his mum’s number. It only rings once before she picks up.

“Harry?!” The blatant dread in her voice instantly brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m _so sorry_ , mum.”

☄️

Harry chops a tomato and tries really hard to not think about anything. His nose is stuffy, so he focuses on that and how annoying it is that he can’t smell the food he’s making. 

He hears the sound of Louis walking around and closing cupboard doors, which means he’s done with his shower. 

Harry puts down the knife and wipes his hands on a dish towel. Inhaling shakily, he opens the tap and splashes a handful of water on his face. He knows there’s no way to hide how swollen his face has gotten, but at least the water is soothing and helps him to calm down.

Louis arrives in the kitchen while he’s drying his face with the hoodie’s sleeve. His face falls right away. “Oh, _love_.”

It takes him half a second to cross the kitchen and get to where Harry is. Harry almost asks him to not come any closer, because Louis’ tenderness makes it a hundred times harder to stop the tears, but Louis doesn’t give him time to protest. As soon as he’s close enough to touch, he pulls Harry to his chest and wraps his arms tight around Harry’s shoulders.

Harry’s body’s instant reaction is to slacken in Louis’ hold, forcing Louis to take a couple steps back, trying to balance both his and Harry’s weight. “’ve gotcha.”

One of Louis’ hands rubs up and down Harry’s back, drawing out a sob off his chest. He buries his face in Louis’ shoulder, fists clenched tight in the back of his shirt. 

Harry has no idea how long they stand there, but, by the time his tears stop, the shoulder of Louis’ t-shirt is damp and Harry’s feet have gone numb. Before Louis lets him pull away, he presses a small kiss to Harry’s temple.

“You should probably get another shirt,” Harry rasps, nodding to the mess he’s made. “Sorry.”

Louis doesn’t even acknowledge what Harry has said, his eyebrows still frowned in concern. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Talk to me about something else,” Harry begs.

“Okay.”

It takes a few moments for them to overcome the heaviness that’s clouded the room. Harry leaves to properly wash his face and, when he comes back, Louis has separate the remaining ingredients for their omelette. From then on, they work in unison while Louis tells Harry about the kid in his class that had started dressing like him. 

With a soft smile on his face, Louis cracks the eggs in a bowl and recites the conversation he’d had with the boy. “One day, he stuck around after class, squirming on his feet and looking proper nervous,” Louis’ grin grows. “I had no idea what the matter was. I thought he might be having trouble with his homework, or maybe one of the bigger kids were pulling pranks on him or something. You know how kids are.”

Harry nods, the warmth in Louis’ voice spreading through his skin and bringing back the feeling to his fingertips. “I’m guessing it was none of that.”

“No,” Louis laughs. “When I asked him if something was wrong, he went on a rant about how he couldn’t find sneakers like mine _anywhere_.” Louis shakes his head fondly, taking a pause from whisking to scratch his nose with his forearm. “You know the ones with the green shoelaces? Those ones.”

“I bet you had no idea what he was on about.”

“Right. I was a bit taken aback by how passionate the little lad was about a pair of sneakers, but then I took a look at him, a _proper_ look and,” Louis chuckles again. “I swear to god, Haz, it was like staring at a miniature version of me. He was even wearing tailored trousers. Check patterned ones!”

Harry makes a face at the cute image his mind comes up with. “Imagine him pitching the looks to his parents, though.”

“Imagine asking your mum for a hundred quid trousers at the age of seven!” Louis cackles while passing the bowl with whisked eggs over to Harry. “Are you alright to finish those? I’ll set the table.”

“Sure.” Harry gets up from his place at the table, bringing both the chopped tomatoes and the eggs to the counter. “What about the sneakers, though? Did he manage to find them?” 

He places the frying pan on the stove, adding a bit of olive oil and turning the heat on with a match.

“I told him to get normal white sneakers that I’d give him the green shoelaces,” Louis recounts from the other side of the kitchen, where he’s busy picking up plates. Soon enough, he places two plates on the counter next to Harry. “Official Balenciaga laces and everything,” Louis winks, playfully.

In that moment, Harry is deeply grateful for Louis’ presence. It’s not like he’s ever _not_ grateful for it, but it’s times like these that remind Harry of why he’d fallen in love with Louis in the first place. He’s radiant and he’s kind. He emanates sunlight and has no qualms sharing the warmth he stores inside of his bones. He’s strikingly generous with his love and he’s able to turn even the bleakest of breakfasts — he’s still got Harry’s snot on his shirt and the world is ending, for Christ’s sake — into a moment of comfort. 

It means that much more because Harry knows Louis is facing demons of his own. He doesn’t need to look to closely to pick up on Louis’ fidgeting hands and the five too many cigarette butts he’d thrown in the bin.

Harry bites his bottom lip and promises himself he’ll do better. Louis is not the kind to easily open up and cry over his heartaches, but neither is Harry, and look where that had gotten him just moments ago. For better or for worse, they’re all each other’s got, and Harry will be damned if he’ll let Louis down.

Thoughts simmering in the back of his mind, Harry carefully adds the tomatoes and the eggs to the pan. As far as he knows, Louis hasn’t spoken to his family since yesterday morning. Has he already said his goodbyes? Doesn’t seem like Louis to cut off all communication before he absolutely has to. 

Sprinkling over the basil, Harry tries to come up with other reasons why Louis hasn’t called his siblings — or at least Jay. Maybe he’s trying to spare Harry’s feelings, seeing as Harry can’t seem to get a hold of himself where families are concerned lately. As soon as Harry thinks it, he discards that hypothesis. Again, there’s no way Louis wouldn’t talk to them if had any means to. 

_Oh_. _Maybe_ his _phone had ran out of battery?_

The omelette has began to cook and firm up, so Harry folds it over in half and waits for it to brown. He likes to think he and Louis are at a point where they can be straightforward with one another. He likes to think Louis would ask to borrow his phone, if his own had ran out of battery. They’re in this together, and Harry would never stand motionless and watch Louis suffer. 

However.

If, for even a second, Louis thought his well-being came at the expense of Harry’s own… 

Harry can definitely see Louis keeping quiet in that scenario.

_Goddamnit, Louis._

Omelette sufficiently browned, Harry slides it on to a plate. Louis is just walking past him, two forks and two knives in hand, and Harry takes the opportunity to hand him his plate. “Here you go.”

“Cheers, babe,” Louis says, leaning up and pecking Harry on the lips.

The world comes to a complete standstill.

For a second, Harry thinks he’s fallen into an alternative reality, because Louis continues on his merry way to the table, steps as light as feathers. As if pecks on the lips were still a thing between the two of them. As if Harry isn’t about to have a stroke from that unexpected point of contact.

Soon enough, though, Louis seems to realize what has happened. He stops in the middle of the kitchen, his back to Harry, and Harry can _see_ the muscles of his back stiffening. He thinks if he concentrates hard enough, he’ll be able to pinpoint the waves of dread washing down Louis’ neck.

There’s no air in the kitchen. There’s no floor beneath his feet and there’s no skin holding his insides together. He doesn’t dare to blink, breathlessly waiting for Louis to do something. Waiting for him to move or apologize. For Louis to turn back around and kiss him for real.

Disappointment falls coldly upon his shoulders when Louis resumes his steps, albeit falteringly, not sparing a glance in Harry’s direction. Astonished, Harry can only watch as Louis takes a place at the table and starts to eat without looking up.

Apparently, they won’t be acknowledging the fact that Louis just fucking _kissed_ him. 

_Fantastic_. 

Harry turns to face the stove again, jaw clenched tight to contain the scream building in his lungs. The feeble grasp he’d managed to get on his emotions comes apart and all he’s left with is the blood pounding behind his eyes and a pair of shaking hands. He’s not hungry anymore, never really was in the first place, and, on top of that, the idea of touching his own mouth with _anything_ is weirdly paralyzing.

As insane as it sounds, Harry wants Louis' lips to be the last thing to have touched his before he dies. 

He wishes he was bold enough to stomp his feet and demand an explanation. Every vein in his body is thrumming with the need to _talk_ about it. (If he’s being honest with himself, Harry knows it’s not so much about needing to talk about it, but actually needing to know if there’s any chance it’ll happen again.) Nevertheless, this is still Louis’ house and, even more terrifying than the prospect of not acknowledging their kiss, is the idea of Louis sending him away for asking too much.

With that in mind, Harry takes a deep breath and tries to concentrate on simple tasks: make his own omelette; eat; ignore the elephant in the room; try not to lose his mind.

Unsurprisingly, Louis makes the last task very difficult to accomplish. When Harry sits at the table, Louis stops moving, chewing, _breathing_ altogether. It’s only when Harry makes it clear that he won’t be mentioning _it_ either (“Can you pass the knife, please?”) that Louis relaxes. Every time Harry opens his mouth to speak, in an attempt to break the tension, Louis starts coughing, clearing his throat or humming. At one point, Harry reaches across the table to grab a napkin and Louis flinches so hard he spills a few drops of his tea.

Harry is trying not to feel offended, but it’s getting harder — and more aggravating — by the second.

Small talk clearly won’t work, so Harry decides to change tactics and aim for big topics instead.

Leaving no room to be interrupted, Harry starts, “Mum was listening to the radio this morning.” As expected, the subject is grave enough to make Louis look up. “They reported fires in the west side of the city, so she was properly scared when I didn’t answer my phone.”

 _Scared_ doesn’t begin to cover the sobs his mom had pressed against the speaker when she’d realized he was okay.

Just like that, Louis’ whole demeanor changes. Gone are the dodging eyes and the distant politeness. “Is she okay? How are they holding up?” He asks. “I hope they don’t think you’re unsafe here.”

Harry allows himself a second to resent how willing Louis is to talk now.

“I told her there weren’t any fires around here, as far as we knew,” Harry says around a mouthful of food. “No smoke or anything like that. Only the weird fog, but apparently that’s everywhere.” He swallows. “They’re okay. They’re having a Scrabble championship.”

“Keeping the family traditions alive, I see.” Louis’ smile is sympathetic.

Harry considers his next words carefully. “She asked about you, and your family.”

Louis hums noncommittally. “What did you say?”

_That you’re depriving yourself from talking to them because you’re a dumbass._

“What I knew,” Harry shrugs. “That you couldn’t leave the city because of the roadblocks and that you had talked to them yesterday.”

Louis bites his bottom lip, eyes downcast while he spreads the leftovers around his plate. Harry is not sure whether to hug him or punch him. 

“I can’t believe I even have to tell you this,” Harry reaches inside the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and pulls out his phone, laying it on the table. “You can use mine. ‘M kinda pissed that you thought you couldn’t ask in the first place.”

“Harry…” Louis doesn’t move a muscle to pick it up. “I would never take aw—”

“Don’t make me call Jay myself, Louis. I swear I’ll do it.”

Louis’ eyes widen at the threat. Considering Louis’ family doesn’t even know he’s here yet, Harry’s sure that, were that phone call ever to happen, it would be quite the surprise.

“I _was_ gonna ask,” Louis mumbles, “but later. You need your family more than I need mine right now.”

Harry’s instinct is to argue, but the stain on Louis’ shirt would mock him.

“She tried to comfort me,” Harry confesses, the memory of Anne’s tearful reassurances wrapping its hands around his windpipe. “Like, I know my mum. Obviously she’s scared, like all of us, but she spent the entire phone call trying to calm me down. How embarrassing is that?”

Louis frowns. “Not embarrassing at all, babe.”

“She even brought back this story she used to tell me. I think I was six? Seven?” Harry rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, trying to get rid of the burning sensation in them. “Whenever I had a nightmare, or when I’d watch horror movies with Gemma, mom would tell me a story about a family of elves that lived underneath my bed. I was obsessed with Legolas at the time, I guess,” he chuckles wetly, putting his hand down. “She used to say that they’d protect me, and that I couldn’t see them because they only showed themselves to kids who ate all their veggies.” Harry gives Louis a shaky smile. “Ridiculous, because I’ve always prided myself on eating all of my veggies.”

All of a sudden, Harry feels something warm touching the back of his hand. He looks down to find Louis has reached across the table to offer him some comfort. 

“She made a terrible joke about how the world has ended at least twice in Middle-earth, so we should be fine.”

It’s only when he feels a prickling sensation running down the side of his nose that Harry realizes he’s started crying again. He uses the hand that’s not holding Louis’ to wipe the wetness off his face. 

They let the conversation wither, a soothing atmosphere falling upon the room. Louis’ thumb keeps caressing the spaces between Harry’s knuckles and the action is more reassuring than anything Louis could’ve said. 

“C’mon. Let’s clean this up, shall we?” Louis whispers. “Then, I’ll call home and we’ll send everyone into a right fit. Just wait till Phoebe hears you’re here.”

Louis’ smile is soft, but his eyes are watchful, searching Harry’s face for any signs of lingering distress.

Harry squeezes his hand once in reassurance. “Sounds like a plan.”

The air between them remains serene while they clean up the table and move to the sink. They reverse their roles this time around, Harry washing while Louis dries the dishes. 

Mindlessly scrubbing their plates, Harry thinks over everything that has happened in the past twenty four hours. It’s a short time to have gone from cautiously amiable to earnest conversations, but the threat of impending death has sped things along. While a normal argument would leave room for reconciliation in a week or two, not mending your bridges today means not mending your bridges at all. Hugging someone today means giving someone a last hug. Words have more weight than they’ve ever had before. Louis opening his house — and his heart — to let Harry in is both the most selfless and most selfish thing he’s ever done.

Oblivious to Harry’s realization, Louis starts to hum under his breath. Harry vaguely recognizes the melody, some pop song he’s heard on the radio a dozen times before, but what makes his heart flutter is the raspiness of Louis’ voice, the endearing air drums he plays with the cutlery.

Harry... loves him.

Harry loves that Louis dances barefoot around the kitchen like there’s nothing bigger on his mind. Loves that Louis didn’t care enough to brush his hair after the shower, resulting in the soft chestnut strands sticking out every which way. Loves that Louis asked about Anne and actually paid attention to the answer. That, at the first sign of cracking, Louis was waiting with open arms to catch Harry’s fall. That it took less than a minute for Louis to put away any leftover bitterness and wash the dishes and drink booze with him. Harry loves that every small detail that made him fall for Louis is still present, but there are also new layers that attest for Louis’ growth. Harry loves him.

And Louis kissed him. These are their last moments, Louis has _kissed_ him and, for some _stupid reason_ , they’re both acting like it was no big deal. Harry is washing the dishes, as if his hands aren’t itching to pull Louis closer, and Louis is humming a song, unaware he’s too far away from Harry to feel right.

Harry shuts off the tap.

“Louis.”

The humming stops. “Yeah?”

Louis is right next to him, left hand reaching for one of the mugs on the drainer. Before Harry knows, his own hand moves to grab Louis’ wrist, pulling him around softly till they’re face to face.

Louis frowns. “What is it, Hazza? Everything okay?”

Harry swallows, stare moving from Louis’ mouth to his nose to his eyes. He takes one step closer and places his other hand on Louis’ jaw, earning a surprised gasp. After tracing Louis’ cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, Harry slowly moves his hand down, barely touching Louis’ lips and caressing his chin.

Louis closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering. “What are you doing?” He whispers.

To answer Louis’ question, Harry finally closes the distance between them and seals their lips together. Louis’ hands immediately find a place on Harry’s waist, a gasp pressing his chest to Harry’s. 

Harry doesn’t let his mind wander, doesn’t let himself think about anything other than the feeling of Louis’ lips against his, Louis’ skin under his fingertips. Louis probably hasn’t shaved in days, because there’s a light stubble covering his jaw, and Harry takes the opportunity to cradle Louis’ face in both his hands and thumb his cheekbones. He has missed this, the tenderness, the intimacy. It’s been too long.

Louis’ sharp inhale drives Harry to deepen the kiss, softly opening his mouth and taking Louis’ bottom lip between his. Louis wastes no time closing his own mouth over Harry’s top lip and Harry is reassured they’re on the same page. From that moment on, the kiss turns from tentative to determined. Harry uses his tongue to trace the seam of Louis’ mouth, which results in Louis parting his lips and digging his fingers into Harry’s skin through the hoodie, pulling him closer. 

Harry shudders when their tongues brush together, the sensation familiar and still breathtaking. Louis moans into his mouth, the breathy sound a response to Harry’s fingers running through the back of his hair. Harry is not sure who moves first, but suddenly standing still is not an option anymore and they start stumbling towards the counter, lips still attached.

Once Louis’ back hits the countertop, the only logical solution seems to grab the back of his thighs and sit him on top of it. Louis lets out a small chuckle, arms wrapping around Harry’s neck and pulling him back into another kiss. 

Their kisses are playful and intense. Hot and deep. Louis tugs Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth and wraps his legs around Harry’s hips. Harry’s tongue twines lazily around Louis’ while the heels of Louis’ feet dig into his lower back, pushing their groins together. The smell of Louis’ cologne makes it hard for Harry to think clearly, so he separates their lips for a moment to bury his nose in Louis’ neck, inhaling deeply.

The action puts a halt to Louis’ own hastiness, fingers unclenching from their grip on the curls at Harry’s nape. Now that they’ve stopped, Harry can hear both of their labored breaths and the sound of his own frantic heartbeat. He presses kisses into Louis’ neck, his collarbone, his jaw, his chin.

“I can’t believe you kissed me and made me act like nothing happened,” he mutters against Louis’ skin.

Harry feels Louis’ throat moving when he swallows. His fingers resume their weaving through Harry’s hair, albeit infinitely more gently than before. “I was terrified. Didn’t really think about it. Just happened.”

His voice sounds like honey and ginger, warm and hoarse from disuse, and Harry wants to kiss him a million times more. “I’m glad you did, anyway.” He nudges their foreheads together, searching for Louis’ eyes and finding complete honesty in his blue irises. “‘M _so_ glad.” Harry smiles.

Louis’ hands move down, thumbs softly caressing the sides of Harry’s neck. “I’m glad, too.” He bites his bottom lip, eyes fixing on Harry’s mouth. “Don’t wanna stop.”

“Then don’t,” Harry says, already covering Louis’ lips with his own.

☄️

Louis is golden. 

The moment he takes off his shirt, Harry wants to touch him everywhere, wants to feel the warmth radiating from him, taste the salt of his skin. The orange light shining from the bedroom window makes Louis look even more ethereal, and Harry can barely wait for Louis to properly kneel over him on the bed, desperately pulling him closer by the waist to mouth at his collarbones.

Louis’ fingers tug the hem of Harry’s hoodie upward, bunching the fabric under his armpits until Harry has no choice but to separate his lips from Louis’ skin to take it off completely. As soon as he throws the piece of clothing away, Louis’ tongue licks its way into Harry’s open mouth, knees squeezing Harry’s hips from both sides.

Harry’s hands slide down Louis’ back, tenderly caressing every inch of his skin until they hit the waistband of Louis’ sweatpants. Louis whimpers low in his throat when Harry’s fingers dip into the waistband to grab two handfuls of his bare ass. 

“I missed these,” Harry pants hot breaths against Louis’ lips. “The sounds you make.”

“I missed _you_ ,” Louis confesses in a whisper. “Nothing else feels like you.”

The words feel like fire burning through Harry’s bloodstream and he uses the hands still palming Louis’ ass to pull him down, hips aligning. “ _Fuck_. I missed you, too.” Harry kisses Louis’ chin, his panting mouth. “So much. I missed you so much, baby.”

Louis drops his head forward onto Harry’s collarbone, pressing another moan into Harry’s skin as his hips start to thrust against Harry’s. “Why does it feel so good to hear you say that again?”

Harry thinks back on what he’s said, brain hazy with lust. “What? Baby?” Louis grinds down hard. “Jesus, fuck.” His hands leave the inside of Louis’ pants to hold Louis’ face, tilting it upwards so his eyes are on Harry’s when Harry says, “I want you, _baby_. Want your mouth and your fingers and your cock—”

“Oh, good _god_ ,” Louis cries out, fingers squeezing Harry’s hip hard enough to bruise. He starts to work his way down Harry’s body, softly kissing and nipping the skin of his chest and nipples. “Why do you still have these on?” Louis pushes down his jeans, not bothering to unbutton it and slide the zipper open.

Harry laughs out a huffed breath. The roughness of the jeans rubbing against his cock reminds him he had forgone his underwear earlier. “Take it ea— oh, _fuck_. Take it _easy_ ,” he finishes in a groan.

Satisfied having pulled Harry’s jeans down to his thighs, Louis stares at Harry’s newly freed cock with his jaw hanging open. “You mean to tell me you were freeballing this whole time?”

The sight of Louis hovering over his crotch, all rosy cheeks and puffy lips, is too much for Harry. He wraps a hand around himself, stroking up and down as he answers, “Not the whole time. Only since this morning.”

Louis bats his hand away. “Lemme do it.” He smirks. “I remember how you like it.”

Harry’s only response is to moan, Louis choosing that moment to swipe his thumb over the head, his other hand tracing the crease of Harry’s thigh. Soon enough, though, it becomes clear that the motions are too dry to work. Wordlessly, Louis crawls over Harry’s body to reach inside the bedside drawer. Harry seizes the opportunity to finish taking off his pants, spreading his legs to accommodate Louis when he comes back with the lube.

Louis drizzles a bit on Harry’s cock, the newfound slickness making it easier for him to establish a rhythm. He squeezes when he gets to the base and repeatedly smooths his thumb along the throbbing vein on the underside of Harry’s length. Harry’s hands fist in the duvet when Louis’ free hand reaches down to massage his balls, tracing the seam with his thumbnail. 

“Lou _is_ ,” Harry hisses, breathless. “Don’t— Don’t want to come like this.”

Louis leans down to brush his lips against the inside of Harry’s thigh, eyes watching his own hands. “We can go again afterwards.”

Harry drops his head back against the pillow, inhaling sharply. “No, I want—” Another squeeze, another groan. “ _Please_. I want you.”

Louis pulls back slowly, both hands kneading one last time before moving to his own sweatpants. Harry watches, entranced, as Louis pulls on the drawstrings, slowly untying them. He sits up, too impatient to wait for Louis to stop teasing him, hungry fingers running down Louis’ belly and tugging at the waistband.

“Wanna see you, c’mon.” Louis’ hands find support on Harry’s shoulders as he gets on his knees, Harry taking off his pants and underwear at once. “Thank god. _Finally_.”

Before Harry has a chance to return the hand job Louis has given him, he finds himself with a lapful of warm skin. Louis’ asscheeks sit on top of his thighs while Louis’ mouth leaves open kisses all over his neck. Louis’ legs frame Harry’s waist and Harry takes a second to close his eyes and relish in what it feels like to be this close to each other again. He runs his nose along the line of Louis’ shoulder, breathing him in.

“‘M so happy,” Harry kisses into his skin, wrapping both arms around Louis and pulling him even closer.

Louis answers by sealing their lips together once again, his fingernails running down the expanse of Harry’s back. Harry’s right hand reaches between them to wrap around Louis, the other one grabbing onto Louis’ thigh. Louis gasps into his mouth when Harry gently runs his thumb over the slit.

“Get the lube, darling,” Louis says.

Harry immediately understands Louis’ strong reaction to being called “ _baby_ ” earlier. A shiver runs down his spine at hearing the pet name in Louis’ voice again. “Fuck, I love that,” he groans, reaching behind Louis’ back for the tube.

“Feels good, innit?” Louis gives him a conspiratorial smile.

“So good,” Harry whispers against his mouth, hands working behind Louis’ back to coat his fingers. He rubs his digits together, to warm it up a bit, then trails a finger between Louis’ cheeks. “Is it cold?”

Louis shakes his head, cheek smashed against Harry’s shoulder. “Feels nice.”

Carefully, Harry slips his middle finger inside, working Louis open. Louis sighs, fingertips digging into Harry’s biceps.

“I can do another one,” Louis rasps.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Harry slowly takes his finger out, “Let’s just get properly settled. My wrist is killing me.”

Louis chuckles, kissing Harry’s shoulder one last time before lifting himself off his lap. They rearrange themselves on the bed, Louis on his back and Harry between his legs. Harry runs his hands up the insides of Louis’ thighs, marveling at the softness of his skin. He lifts one of Louis’ knees, spreading Louis’ legs wider, and gives Louis’ cock a quick, open kiss, before getting back to the matter at hand.

Harry squirts a bit more lube on his fingers, spreading it around Louis’ entrance before pushing two fingers inside. Louis digs his heels into the bed, one fist clenched at his side while the other wraps loosely around his length. 

Harry’s eyes roam over Louis’ body, from his curled toes to his thighs to his clenched belly to his bitten bottom lip. Harry drops his forehead on Louis’ hip. “Fuck, Louis. You’re gorgeous.”

Louis’ fingers find the curls at the back of Harry’s head, threading themselves gently before pulling lightly. “Hurry up, please.” His voice breaks on the last syllable.

Harry nods, working a third finger into Louis’ opening. He screws his fingers inside in a steady rhythm until he doesn’t feel any resistance anymore. 

“It’s good, it’s good,” Louis pants out. “Come over here.”

Harry crawls over Louis, positioning himself on top of him. He can’t help but give Louis another deep kiss, his lips too red and tempting not to. “Where’s the condom?”

Louis freezes. “Shit.” He screws his eyes shut. “I don’t think I have any. _Shit_. I’m so sorry.”

Harry hovers over him, elbows propped at the sides of Louis’ head while he tries to catch his breath. The possibilities run over his mind and the mere idea of not finishing what they’ve started has Harry frustrated to the verge of tears. It’s not just about sex, it’s about the closeness. It’s about opening up to each other so completely that words aren’t necessary. Harry misses being able to read Louis’ mind just from a gasp in his ear. He wants to convey all the longing, grievance and loneliness he has felt in the past twelve months through his body. The time they have left is not nearly enough for them to talk it through and Harry needs Louis to know, needs to make sure Louis understands somehow.

“I don’t…” Harry licks his lips and swallows. They’ve never done it bare before. They’d discussed it a few times, but nothing concrete. It feels too bold to suggest it now, but it’s not like they have many options. “I don’t care if you don’t care.”

It seems redundant to point out that most of the reasons for protection aren’t valid anymore, considering the unfortunate context they find themselves him.

Louis lets out a relieved sigh. “I don’t,” he shakes his head, already pulling Harry back down. “I don’t care. I just wanna be close to you, _please_.”

Harry groans. “God, yeah.” His voice sounds thick to his own ears. “I know.” He buries his face in Louis’ neck, lathing at the skin as he strokes more lube onto himself. “Fuck, it’s gonna feel so good.”

Harry’s hands find the backs of Louis’ knees and gently push them against Louis’ chest, spreading him further. His stomach flutters at the sight of his cock aligning with Louis’ entrance. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

Louis nods. “Okay.”

Harry pushes in carefully, sliding only the head inside and waiting for Louis’ reaction. Louis clenches around him and gives him a look. “Keep _going_.”

Harry smirks. “Alright.” He thrusts the rest of the way inside, the sensations washing over him like waves. “Holy fuck.”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis moans at the same time, rib cage heaving. 

Harry experiments pulling back a fraction and pushing back inside. “Oh my god, baby.” The pleasure makes his sight hazy. “So fucking tight.”

“C’mon, darling.” Louis uses his feet to push Harry further into him, heels digging into Harry’s asscheeks. “Give it to me.”

That’s all encouragement Harry needs to start thrusting his hips in earnest, a slow rhythm building between them. The feeling of nothing but Louis surrounding him, in every sense of the word, with his arms around Harry’s shoulders and his shaky breath against Harry’s cheek, is enough to make him dizzy. He can feel Louis’ cock rubbing against his stomach, wet with precome, and a big part of him feels settled that this is feels just as good for Louis as it feels for him. 

Harry lets his body take over, his movements speaking a language that only Louis understands. Sharp and uncoordinated thrusts translating the turmoil that had been to find his place in a life without Louis. Harry’s frantic heartbeat singing about months of uncertainty and yearning. His tender touches whispering about the path to acceptance and reminiscence. Harry’s unyielding eyes pleading for second chances they both know won’t ever come.

In the blink of an eye, the energy in the room shifts. The sound of lustful moans turns into choked up breaths and suddenly Harry feels Louis’ wet gasp on his neck. “Harry,” his voice barely loud enough to reach Harry’s ears. 

Harry pulls back slightly to look at him, Louis’ hands gently holding his face. Once their gazes lock, Harry immediately recognizes the tears collecting in the corners of Louis’ eyes. “Oh, honey…” His hips slow their movements.

“No, please,” Louis sniffs, a shaky smile on his lips. “Let me say this.”

Harry kisses the moisture away before it rolls down Louis’ cheeks. “Okay.”

Louis thumbs Harry’s cheekbone, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath. “I love you.” His voice breaks halfway through it. He tries again. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Harry feels the bottom of his stomach cave in.

Louis goes on. “I know we weren’t meant for forever and you had different plans, but—”

Harry kisses his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop him. 

“Louis.” He kisses Louis’ wet eyelids, his cheekbone, his temple. “Baby. Love.” A last, lingering kiss on his lips. “I love you. I love you. If I could, I would—” 

Grief cuts him off. There’s no if. There’s only the next few hours. 

Harry swallows, unsure of what to say. “Lou, the… The idea of saying goodbye to you hurt so bad that I dropped everything else to come here. So I wouldn’t have to.” Louis’ face pinches and he presses his lips together. “Any goodbye that came before that is meaningless. Please, believe me.”

Louis nods, pulling Harry into a tight hug and muffling a sob against his shoulder. “Sorry for ruining this.”

The fact that he’s still inside of Louis returns to the forefront of his mind. He shakes his head, fondly. “What are you talking about? Nothing could ever ruin this.”

Louis laughs softly and Harry grinds down gently. “Are you okay to keep going?”

Louis’s fingers give Harry’s thigh a light pinch. “More than.”

Harry presses his lips to Louis’, spreading their mouths open and diving for a deep kiss while their hips find a new rhythm. The rawness of their emotions increases every sensation by tenfold and it’s not long before Harry’s thrusts start to stutter. He reaches between their bodies, clumsy fingers wrapping around Louis and earning a groaned out, “ _Fuck, Harry_.”

“Come for me, baby. C’mon,” Harry pleads against Louis’ jaw, hand working fast up and down Louis’ cock.

Louis cries out brokenly, clenching and releasing repeatedly around Harry’s length as he comes. Harry increases the pace of his thrusts, finally giving into the waves of heat and pleasure crashing through his whole body and spilling inside of Louis. 

The sluggish peacefulness that falls upon them comes along with exhaustion. Harry barely has half a mind to clean up the mess of lube and come off their bodies, using Louis’ discarded shirt. He chuckles when Louis makes a face in disgust, throwing the soiled shirt on the floor and laying his body half on top of Louis’.

“We’re not putting on any clothes ever again,” Harry jokes, tenderly brushing Louis’ sweaty fringe off his forehead. “We’re dying naked in this house.”

Louis laughs with his eyes closed. “Deal.”

Letting his own tiredness pull him under, Harry brushes one last kiss against Louis’ chin. “Deal.”

☄️

Jay’s reaction to finding out they’re together is pretty similar to Gemma’s.

“Oh,” Harry hears her muffled voice coming out of the tiny speakers of his phone. “Of course.”

He’s cleaning up the mess they left in the living room last night, searching for something to do while Louis facetimes Jay in the bedroom. Daylight is rapidly running out, washing the house in tones of blue and burgundy, and Harry catches himself trying to remember how everything looked before, in a natural, non-orange light. 

He tries not to pay attention to the conversation happening in the other room, but it’s hard. From the moment Jay had picked up, Louis had sounded choked up, northern accent getting thicker by the second. Harry’s heart clenches painfully every time he hears a new sniff and it takes everything in him to respect Louis’ privacy and not run in there.

Harry recognizes some of the other voices coming through the speakers, like Lottie's (" _We'll be okay. We've got one another. Please, look after yourself, okay?_ "), Ernest's (" _I'm scared, Lou._ ”) and Phoebe’s (“ _I wish I could give you and Harry both a hug and a slap for being so stupid._ ”)

_That seems to be the consensus, yes._

Harry has just finished putting the empty bottles in a cardboard box when he hears Louis calling from the bedroom. “Hazza, come here a minute!”

Louis is on the bed, sitting cross-legged and wearing only the hoodie he’d given Harry this morning and his underwear. He’s holding the phone in front of his face with one hand while using the other — engulfed in a sweater paw — to wipe his cheek. “Mum wants to talk to you.”

Harry’s surprise and hesitation must show on his face, because Louis gives him an affectionate, teary smile. “It’s nothing bad, darling.” 

“Oh, don’t be silly, boy!” Jay reprimands all the way from Doncaster.

Harry makes his way to the bed on shaky legs. Louis gets up as soon as he sits down, handing Harry the phone and caressing his shoulder. “‘M gonna go wash my face. Be right back.”

Jay looks exactly as Harry remembers her. Maybe her wrinkles look a tad deeper and the bags beneath her eyes are a shade darker, but that’s it. Harry’s heart aches with how much he misses her.

“Hi, Jay.” 

“Hi, love,” her smile is not quite the same, but Harry doesn’t think any of theirs are at the moment. “I’d ask how are you, but that’s just nonsense, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugs, uncertain about how to answer. “It’s really good to see you again.”

“Likewise, kiddo. I’m really happy you’re there.” She pauses, taking a deep breath before starting again. Harry braces himself. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s not my place to tell you how to go about your relationship. What happened between you and him concerns only you two. What I know is that you’ve looked after my boy for a long time and I’m immensely grateful for that.”

Harry is blindsided by how reassuring it is to hear Jay saying that. “He’s taken care of me just as much.”

“I know,” Jay nods, a fond look on her face. “That’s why I can breathe a little easier and focus on my little ones. Thank you for being there, Harry.”

Harry bites his bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “I love you, Jay. I miss you.”

“Ditto, sweetheart. Please, send your mother my love when you speak to her again, would ya?” Harry appreciates that she says _when_ , not _if_. “Haven’t spoken to her in too long. I hope things are okay in her end of things.”

“I talked to her this morning,” Harry says. “She’s as optimistic as you’d expect.” 

“Of course she is,” Jay chuckles. 

Louis chooses that moment to come out of the en suite, face blotchy but eyes clear. Harry can’t help but soften at the sight. Jay certainly spots the change in Harry’s demeanor, because her next words already sound like goodbye. “I’m gonna let you go now. I’d hate to be responsible for killing your battery ahead of time.”

Louis’ steps quicken and soon he’s taking the phone from Harry, sitting half on the bed, half on Harry’s lap. “Let me see the babies one last time, mum. Please.” He sounds desperate. 

Jay switches from the front to rear-facing camera and gives them both a view of Louis’ family, spread across all corners of the living room. Ernie and Doris — or, the babies, as Louis calls them — are sitting on the rug playing Monopoly with Lottie and Phoebe. Daisy has her head resting on Fizzy’s shoulders as they both read a book together. Dan is standing near the doorway, speaking to a much older woman, who Harry suspects might be Mrs. Deakin.

They watch the scene for a few moments, Louis’ free hand wrapped tight around Harry’s wrist. Harry turns to watch him as Louis takes it all in, eyes roaming all over the screen. Too soon, Jay switches the camera back around and they’re met with her face. 

“Thank you, mum,” Louis whispers.

“We all love you, honey.”

“I know.”

“We’ll see each other again.”

“Okay,” Louis chokes out. “I love you, too.”

It’s heart-wrenching to watch a mum and her son say goodbye, so Harry hides his face in the fabric of Louis’ hoodie, his eyes burning. He hugs Louis around the waist as tight as he can and orders himself to become the cornerstone he knows Louis will need soon.

Once Jay hangs up, Harry wraps his entire body around Louis’ shaking frame, doing his best to keep all of Louis’ pieces together.

☄️

Harry doesn’t know how long it takes for their tears to dry. 

Louis’ body goes from shaking, to wracking sobs, to low sniffles. He barely has any voice left when he tells Harry that they should call Anne, too, before the phone dies out. 

The second call goes just as well as the previous one.

The screen tells them Harry’s phone battery is at two percent. Harry wishes it would just turn off already, so that he could let go of the ounce of hope that’s still clinging to his veins.

The sun has completely set and Harry’s eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to make out the shape of Louis pressed to his front. They’re lying on the bed, chest to chest, and Harry has no motivation to move anymore. 

It feels real now. Louis will be the last person he’ll see. The last person he’ll hug, he’ll talk to. The last eyes he’ll see before his own close forever. If he has to find some comfort in a moment like this, he’ll make himself believe that they will both probably go at the same time, none having to live in a world without the other, no matter how shortly for.

Harry feels Louis’ mouth moving against his skin when he says, “How dumb would it be to take a shower?”

Harry frowns. “Wouldn’t the water be too cold by now?”

Louis pulls back and, even though Harry can’t see, he can _hear_ a small smile on Louis’ voice. “That’s why I’d be taking you with me.”

Harry feels a flicker of excitement igniting in his bones. “Not because you enjoy my company?”

“No,” Louis says, mock-serious. “Purely for warming purposes.”

Harry presses a hesitant grin to Louis’ temple. “What would this job entail, exactly? How am I supposed to keep you warm?”

Louis chuckles, extricating himself from Harry’s arms and sitting up. “I’ll let you figure that out for yourself.” His voice already sounds farther away when he exclaims, “Use your imagination!”

Harry is lucky he knows the room well enough to get to the bathroom without stumbling over any furniture. Louis has already opened the shower by the time he finishes taking off his sweatpants and shirt. To Harry’s grateful surprise, the water is not as cold as he’d expected, but it’s also not exactly warm, so they do end up sharing the space beneath the spray more often than not.

For as playful as they had been while talking about it, the shower turns out to be much more loving and gentle. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for the same purpose, though, hands running over skin and eliciting waves of heat. The darkness means Harry has to rely solely on his touch to guide himself across Louis’ body, fingertips massaging Louis’ shoulders and the small of his back. Harry thinks a push in the right direction could shift the mood to sexual, but they’re both too emotionally wrung out for that. All Harry wants is to listen to the sound of Louis breathing and not think about anything.

Louis steps out of the shower first, hands feelings blindly for towels and knocking over a couple indistinguishable objects. “Goddammit,” he laughs. “Times like these I wish I kept things tidy.”

They dry themselves halfheartedly and, when Louis moves to grab some clothes in the cupboard, Harry pulls him back by the hand. “C’mon, let’s just…” He hopes Louis can fill in the blank.

Louis considers him for a second. “You were serious before? About dying naked?” He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

Harry shrugs, even though Louis can’t see him. “It’s not that. I just… wanna feel close to you, y’know?”

Harry knows it rings some similarity to Louis’ words earlier, and he knows Louis will understand, even though the circumstances are different.

“Okay.” Louis gives his hand a squeeze. Harry feels him stepping closer and circling his arms around his waist. Louis brushes a sweet kiss to Harry’s collarbone and rests his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. “We can do that.”

Harry wraps his own arms around Louis’ shoulders, pulling him tighter against his chest. It’s oddly soothing, having something — some _one_ — to hold on to. 

The clutch of melancholy has loosened on his throat, leaving behind only a shadow of wistfulness and the freeing weight of acceptance. He breathes in the smell of Louis’ shampoo and comes to the startling realization that he has no regrets to mourn, not really. Sure, he could’ve spent less time working and more time traveling. He could’ve stopped using plastic straws much sooner than he did. He could’ve fought harder for what he and Louis had before throwing in the towel.

Still, he’s here. They lost precious time together, but Louis _knows_. Harry was lucky enough to stumble upon the love of his life before he was even old enough to drive, and, from that point forward, they built a bond most people only ever dream of finding. His life was consumed by his love of things and people, Louis in the starring role, and Harry wouldn’t change a thing, if given the choice. Maybe breaking up last year was a mistake. Maybe, if it wasn’t for that, they would’ve been married by now and on their way to starting a family, but that’s not for him to know. What he has are his choices and their consequences, and, with Louis in his arms now, he’s pretty happy with where he ended up.

They hug until their feet grow tired. Once their calves start tingling, they silently move back to the bed, hands tied so they don't lose each other in the dark. Louis lies down first, arms open creating a safe place for Harry to fit himself into.

Louis’ fingers thread themselves through the unruly, wet curls at the back of Harry’s head. “Do you think we’ll be able to sleep?”

Harry wedges a leg between Louis’, breaking into goosebumps when his leg hairs brush against Louis’ skin. “I dunno,” he mumbles. “That would be ideal, wouldn’t it? To not even see it happening.”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs. After a heartbeat, he pushes up slightly, taking Harry with him as he reaches for the duvet at the end of the bed. He lies back down once he grabs a fistful of it, throwing it over their bodies. “There you go.” Louis pulls until the duvet covers them both from head to toe. “Now we won’t see a thing, even if we wake up. We have our own shelter.”

Harry brushes his lips over every inch of Louis’ skin until he finds Louis’ mouth. “ _You’re_ my shelter.” He seals their lips together, tongue tenderly licking its way around Louis’. 

Louis breathes out a contented sigh when they pull apart. “I love you. This doesn’t seem as scary when you’re here with me.” 

Their hearts pound against one another and Harry feels something blazing inside of his chest. Before he knows, the words find their way out of his mouth. “I will find you anywhere.”

It’s foolishly optimistic, and Harry is not really a spiritual person, but he believes in _something_ . He believes with every fibre of his being that his and Louis’ souls are drawn to each other by forces beyond their own comprehension. If there’s even a slight chance that there’s an _after_ , he knows they’ll see each other again.

Louis doesn’t question it. He simply hugs Harry tighter and whispers, “Okay. Deal.” 

With a newfound sense of peace, Harry falls asleep to the thought of a different Harry finding a different Louis in a different life.

☄️

Harry wakes up to the sound of _something_ turning on.

For a long while, he’s convinced that he’s dreaming. Everything feels weirdly pleasant and, somewhere in the very far back of his mind, he’s aware that’s not the way things are supposed to be right now. As his consciousness comes back, he notices there’s no… pain. No ear piercing noise. No screaming. Everything he has come to expect from a great, world-ending tragedy just isn’t there.

Blearily, Harry takes notice of the warm body pressed to his. _Louis_. Louis is still here. Apparently, still safe. Things can’t be too bad if Louis is still with him. Maybe they still have a chance, after all.

With that in mind, Harry opens his eyes.

Then he squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, because, _what?_

The bedroom looks exactly as he remembers — except for the mild orange fog, that became a _deep_ orange fog. Everything is a shade of apricot, but, other than that, everything is fine. Good. Unbroken.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

Harry’s eyes fall upon Louis and his heart suddenly feels too big for his rib cage. He hadn’t known what to expect, but not even in his most optimistic dreams had he imagined he’d wake up to Louis snoring softly on his chest, peaceful and safe. Exhilaration takes over the confusion in his mind and Harry can’t wait another second to share this feeling with Louis.

“Babe,” he puts his hands on both Louis’ shoulders to shake him softly. “Babe, wake up.”

Louis inhales sharply, eyes still closed. “Hm?”

Harry squeezes his shoulders and leans down to whisper. “Open your eyes. You gotta see this.”

Louis does and Harry watches, endeared, as a myriad of emotions plays out on Louis’ face once he takes in the room around them. Much like Harry, his first reaction is confusion, followed by bewilderment and settling on reluctant hope. “What happened?”

Harry shakes his head, still perplexed. “I don’t know. I just woke up.”

“Do you think they…” Louis frowns, gathering his thoughts. “Do you think they messed up the timing of it, or something?” His eyes beg Harry to make sense of things. Harry recognizes the hesitation radiating off of him, the fear of letting himself hope, only to have his heart crushed one more time.

Harry sits up, gently pulling Louis with him. “We won’t know better until we check what’s going on. C’mon.”

They walk to the window of the bedroom, steps faltering. Harry pulls back the curtain and they’re met with chaos.

Everything is covered in fallen leaves and dust. Whereas yesterday there was barely anyone on the streets, today there are groups of people gathered all over the sidewalk and asphalt. Everyone seems to be too caught up in their vehement conversations to notice the cars trying to get through, barely dodging their bodies while they gesticulate emphatically. It’s with great relief that Harry notes that nobody seems to be physically hurt.

“The power is back on,” Louis says. 

When Harry turns to look at him, Louis is looking up at the air conditioner. 

“Huh,” Harry breathes out. “I guess that explains what woke me up.” 

Harry’s gaze returns to Louis and they both stare at each other in disbelief.

“Is it too crazy to think we might have made it?” Louis asks, a cautious smile forming on his lips.

Harry chuckles. “No, it’s not,” he says, closing the distance between them in two strides. He pulls Louis into a hug, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and lifting him off the ground. “No, it’s not! Holy _fuck_!”

Louis laughs in his ear, a sweet sound that piles on top of the euphoria already building inside of Harry. “Oh, my god, Hazza. This is insane.” Louis kisses the side of his face, his neck, his lips. His hands come up to hold Harry’s cheeks and Harry holds him tighter at the sight of his teary eyes. “It’s too good to be true.”

Harry puts him down, his own hands coming up to cradle Louis’ jaw. Louis’ bright and beautiful smile feels like the green light Harry had been waiting for to allow himself to hope. “We made it, baby.” 

Louis’ grin grows even more as he smashes his mouth against Harry’s in a delighted kiss. “We have to find out what happened,” he mumbles between kisses. “We gotta put on some clothes and call our families.”

“Yeah,” Harry kisses his lips one last time. “You’re right.”

They grab the first clothes they find lying around Louis’ bedroom, putting them on hastily before rushing to the living room. They search frantically between the sofa cushions for the remote control, Louis finding it and turning on the TV. Harry doesn’t know which channel is on, but they don’t have to bother switching, the screen already broadcasting a news report.

“.. _.first detected by a Brazilian observatory on February 12th. NASA’s failure to determine the collision probability of the space rock highlights longstanding concerns about a lack of US government funding for asteroid detection efforts_ . _Dr Paul Chodas, manager of NASA’s Centre for..._ "

The screen displays the headline, “ _Asteroid Apophis narrowly misses Earth — and highlights NASA's underfunding crisis_ ”, in bold, red letters.

Harry watches, in complete astonishment, as a journalist on screen discloses the after-effects of such a close call. Apparently, the Southern Hemisphere has gotten the roughest end of the deal. The asteroid hasn’t actually collided with the planet’s surface, but it has come close enough that its magnetic field, coupled with its high geocentric velocity, has caused some serious damage to Earth’s atmosphere — hence the orange fog.

“This is bloody mental,” Harry frowns at the reports of severe climate changes in Africa and Australia. “I can’t believe they fucked up this bad.”

“Pfft, I wouldn’t wanna be any of those poor sods who went all out and spent all of their savings,” Louis laments. “Imagine going to sleep expecting the world to end and waking up to find you have no money for rent.”

“Oh, my god,” Harry covers his mouth, appalled. “At least half of the people in the office quit last week. Actually, that makes me think... When do you think we’re supposed to go back to work?”

Louis startles, mouth hanging open in doubt. “I have no idea.”

They share a dumbfounded look and, all of a sudden, the absurdity of it all becomes too much. They both burst out laughing at the same time.

“I bet you’re glad you didn’t go to Morocco, huh?” Harry gets a throw pillow flung at his face for the joke.

“Shuddup,” Louis tries to contain his smile while he sits on the sofa. “We’re laughing now, but I think a lot of people actually messed up their lives pretty bad with those harsh decisions.”

“Yeah, maybe. But harsh decisions aren’t all bad, are they? Look at us.” Harry gives Louis his softest smile, sitting down as well.

Louis’ face falls in one second flat. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even blink.

“What?” Harry feels his blood turning cold immediately, whiplash leaving him light-headed. “What did I say?”

Louis turns away, avoiding his eyes. Anxiety climbs its way up Harry’s spine.

“Louis, talk to me.”

Louis swallows. “It’s nothing. I just think…” He licks his lips. “Maybe we should put a hold on this.”

It cuts like a knife to the gut. “What? No! _Why_?”

Louis sighs, exasperated, like he’d rather be anywhere else than here, having this discussion. “We were just talking about it, Haz.” He shrugs, but Harry knows better. There’s nothing callous about his voice, his demeanor. “A lot of decisions were made without much thought.” 

“Yeah, but they were still _decisions_. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Harry shakes his head, dismayed. “Where is this coming from? We talked!” He sounds pleading even to his own ears.

Louis’ face breaks, anguish showing in the downward turn of his mouth. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? We didn’t! We didn’t talk. You came here when none of us had nothing at stake. No matter how much I wish they weren’t, things are different now!”

The knife that had been in Harry’s guts finds its way to his heart, cutting deeply. “Do you—” His voice breaks. “Do you regret it? Is that it?”

Louis’ eyes widen in alarm. “No! Of course not!” He leans forward, his hand almost touching Harry’s forearm before he thinks better. “Harry, I meant every word I said yesterday—”

“So did I!”

“I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat—”

“Then explain to me what the problem is!” Harry exclaims, voice raw. “Because I really don’t get it.” He means for it to come out forcefully, but heartache grips his throat tight and the words sound choked and mumbled.

In the blink of an eye, Louis’ chest deflates. His shoulders fall and his face crumbles. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry.” He finally lets himself touch Harry, moving closer and holding Harry’s face in his hands. “I’m scared, I’m sorry.” He rests his forehead against Harry’s, eyes squeezed shut.

Harry breathes in shakily. “I’m scared, too.”

They stay silent until their breaths synchronize. Once he’s sure his voice won’t break again, Harry says, “Can you please just tell me what’s wrong? So we can talk this through?”

Louis pulls back slightly, opening his eyes. He looks at Harry for a long while, considering his next words carefully. “I can’t have you hating me again.”

Harry’s body _jerks_ in response to that, his aversion to the statement so fierce Louis flinches back infinitesimally. “I could _never_ —”

Louis’ thumb moves from Harry’s cheek to his lips, gently silencing him. “Let me say this, please.”

Harry inhales sharply, swallowing down his indignation. Still, he can’t help but try to convey how offended he is with the intensity of his stare.

Louis’ mouth quirks up slightly, but soon he’s back to seriousness. “I worded that badly, sorry. I know you don’t hate me, love. But I’ll never forget—” he cuts himself off, biting his bottom lip. “I don’t want this to sound like I’m throwing what you said back in your face. I promise this is not what I’m doing, okay? But, when you said you hated who you had become because of me? I can’t have you saying that again, Harry. I can’t make you feel that way again.”

If Harry remembers correctly, his exact words were, “ _I hate who I become when I live in your shadow._ ”

Louis’ thumb is not pressing down on his lips anymore, so Harry takes that as permission to speak. “That won’t happen again. I promise you, Louis.” He takes one of Louis’ hands in his and squeezes. “Things have changed, _I’ve_ changed. You’ve changed as well, I can see it.” The frown between Louis’ eyebrows still hasn’t dissipated, so Harry goes on. “There are so many good things about us, so many parts of me that come alive because of you. And I love them.”

“I’m not sure I’ve changed enough to not make the same mistake again.” Louis sounds so vulnerable that Harry brings Louis’ hand to his lips, giving it a comforting peck.

“That’s the whole point of a relationship. We’re in this _together_. We’ll keep each other in check this time. We know better.”

Louis drops his forehead to Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way. I know it’s no excuse, but it was never, ever my intention.”

“Honey, that’s not— Hey, look at me,” Harry puts his hands Louis’ neck, thumbs at his jaw, tipping his head back to look at him. “I know it’s hard to let go of the things we said back then, but we _both_ had some stuff we had to work through. A lot of what happened had to do with own insecurities. I shouldn’t have put it all on you.”

Louis shakes his head, disgruntled. “You needed me and I was too blind to see past my own problems.”

Harry lets out a stubborn huff. “And I was too caught up in my own pride to ask for help. Too ashamed about being unemployed and so damn dependent. I have no doubt you would’ve moved mountains for me, _if only I had asked._ ”

Louis presses his lips together in consideration. The self-hatred has finally faded from his eyes and Harry thinks they might actually be getting somewhere. “I suppose we could keep this back-and-forth guilt trip going on forever if we really wanted to.” He gives Harry a timid smile. “I get what you mean, though. It does take two to get to that point.”

“Yes, it does,” Harry pulls Louis forward with the hands still on his neck, noses brushing in an eskimo kiss. “Please, tell me we can put all the talk about ‘taking a break’ behind us. I don’t want to take a break, put a hold on, whatever. I want _you_.”

Harry feels Louis’ breath hit his lips when Louis laughs. “I want you, too,” he whispers, like a confession. “Every part of you. The singing in the shower and the cold toes that make me shiver at night.”

Harry feels something settle inside of his bones. “I’ve got you to warm them.”

When their lips come together in a soft kiss, it feels like home.

☄️

It’s only later that Harry remembers to charge his phone. They’ve used Louis’ to contact both their families — everyone okay and only marginally bewildered — so it doesn’t seem like a priority until he gets bored waiting for Louis to come out of the shower.

It takes a while for it to charge enough to turn back on. Louis has just come out of the bathroom, looking like some god’s wonderful gift to mankind, towel hanging low on his hips, when Harry’s phone gives signs of life.

Similar to what had happened yesterday, his screen is immediately flooded with a never-ending influx of notifications. He opens the first one, a text message with a photo attached, and bursts out in laughter.

Louis turns back from his place in front of the cupboard to look at him curiously. “What?” He asks, already chuckling. “What is it?”

Harry holds up the phone so Louis can see for himself. The message is from Harry’s cousin*. The photo attached had been taken with a selfie stick and it shows his cousin among a terrifyingly large number of people. Everyone seems to be inebriated on some level, with big smiles on their faces and at least one bottle in hand. 

The caption says: 

“ _told ya the world wouldn’t end! u should’ve come!_ "

**Author's Note:**

> i like to pretend Harry’s cousin is actually Niall hahaha.
> 
> thank you so much for reading!  
> if you want to talk about this story, you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.sunflowrsix.tumblr.com).
> 
>  **tumblr posts** : [one](https://sunflowrsix.tumblr.com/post/190706211693) | [two](https://sunflowrsix.tumblr.com/post/190589429629)


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